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Poems By Poet Patti Masterman  9/2/2014 1:45:13 AM
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  PATTI MASTERMAN
 
 
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  33.     

An Embarrassment of Freaks

An embarrassment of freaks
Went to the circus
While a school of penguins
Danced round the ring
A habitude of nuns
Ran out to greet them
And then the whole world
Started to sing.

They sang about taxis
And failed prophylaxis
And cats in a frolic
And dogs pulling sleds
They sang for their supper
They rang for their tea
Then went out for a dip
In the Long Island sea.
 
Patti Masterman
   
 

   
   
 

  34.     

Come to Jesus

Come to Jesus,
He plaintive waits,
Big as life
To surround the world.
Jesus holds his hands out
To help carry your load-
Who else could care about your petty desires,
Or keep track of your many love affairs?

Jesus holds keys to a padded cell;
You've been there many times before,
Just say his name, get out of jail free,
Avoid a death sentence
Or curfew at three.
Say you got saved,
Surrendered your life-
You're not responsible
For who brought the knife.

Yes, just take it all to Jesus,
Dump it at his feet;
He'll show it to his Father
Up where the Heavens meet.
Sin always just enough,
So you can sin some more:
You know you can trust Jesus,
Not to close that door.

You've made your god a scapegoat
A whiner's alibi
The eternally forgiving
'Oops-got-something-in-my-eye'
Can't you show a sincere life,
If it’s Jesus you love best-
To give account for your belief,
Instead of endless tests?
 
Patti Masterman
   
 

   
   
 

  35.     

Once True

Are you sad when you're dead; all your cells
Still think they're working for you,
Though I went where you led, now you're
Gone, and there's nothing to do.

Do you lie in fetid silence, lids closed upon
Every tomorrow; is there nothing
To be left now, of whatever you once were?

Is the soul what a man is; more than snakes
More than snails, more than letters
In a string; can't make up what is real,
When matter finally finds its voice to sing.

Do you lie in fields of clover, smiling
At secrets, we can only dream,
Safe from sorrow, safe from fear?
Floating down on ethereal streams..

Are you sad when you're dead, all your cells
Still think they're working for you,
Drifted off, to some farther somewhere
But know: every life lived once was always true.
 
Patti Masterman
   
 

   
   
 

  36.     

White Trash

The gas station has new owners;
though they do not show themselves much,
there is rumored fresh gas in the tanks.

While the old owner's girl sells out the last of the candy bars,
the son of the new owners sells fresh gas.

There is rumored to be a pawn shop and liquor store
also coming here; but for our part
we fear the arrival of the white trash crowd;
boozing and pawning their meager lives away,
perhaps casting about for something new to steal, to pawn-

Though I have yet to lay eyes on anyone new yet:
could it be I am the only white trash
that's blowing around the parking lot, just now?
 
Patti Masterman
   
 
 
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Poems By Poet Patti Masterman